Big Banquet Smiles
by Lunafee
Summary: An interfaction banquet takes place, forcing the Autobots and Decepticons alike to pretend to be decent human beings for one night. But Arcee can't seem to find a dress. (Soundwave/Arcee)
1. Chapter 1

Hi all! This is actually the result of _another_ writing session I did with a friend ( Hillside Dancing On ) Humanized TFP cast fic because why not? It seemed fun. Don't expect any deep underlying story or anything. Just a fun and (hopefully) Humorus/romantic fic we cooked up. Enjoy!

* * *

Some would call it being cocky.

Others would call it arrogance.

Soundwave called it foresight_._

His shoes clacked against the concrete. He wore a dim slate blue trench coat, and black sunglasses that rendered his expression unreadable. He took a couple of glances to his sides before entering the small store. Soundwave took in his surroundings.

There were stands filled with fatty snacks. Chips, candies, crackers, small cakes; and near the back had several types of drinks. The man strolled over to the back and picked himself a bottled iced tea before progressing to the counter.

He coolly set his drink on the counter, a rather grizzly man glances at him, taking the drink to ring him up. "…Anything else?" He casually asked, scanning the item. Soundwave brought a hand up and pointed to the stand behind the man.

A box of condoms.

"We-heh-heh-ell. Looks like somebody's gettin' _lucky_ tonight~" The clerk chortled. Soundwave said nothing.

The man took the box in question and scanned it in, putting both in a small bag. "That'll be $3.98."  
Soundwave slid him a five-dollar-bill. The man took the money, broke it into change, and handed it back along with the requested items. "Heh. Good luck~" He spoke once more, Soundwave nodded in return before turning on his heels and walking out of the store. He heard a small chime come from his phone, checking it he found that he had gotten a text message from Arcee. He opened his phone and began to read.

_[[I'm not going.]]_

Soundwave popped the cap on his bottled black tea, holding it up the street lights and swirling the sediment about before draining a small sip. All the while, his other hand was busily typing up a response.

_[[Do the other Autobots know about this?]]_

He waited. Waited. Walked on past two theaters and a boarded up restaurant Drummed his long, clever fingers against the phone, and then…

Another chime.

_[[No, and I frankly don't care. These banquets are ridiculous. It's the one thing we all can agree on.]]_

Another long sip.

_[[Then there it is. Unity.]]_

The next response came far more quickly. Soundwave hadn't even cleared the block.

_[[Name one real reason for me to be there.]]_

Soundwave almost smirked, knowing that she would go to the ridiculous inter-faction banquet for all the same reasons he would. It was where they'd had their first meeting outside of work, after all. Where they'd first stood awkwardly by the bar and made the stiffest of conversations. How it had turned into dancing (and how dancing had turned into another bar visit, which in turn had led to Arcee's place), they would never know.

But it was the start of everything that had happened since then, and they certainly couldn't fault it for that.

_[[To make the whole thing tolerable.]]_

Damn that man. That single sentence halted Arcee in mid-message.

_[[But I don't have a suit.]]_

Soundwave's response was quick to come back.

_[[Get one tailored.]]_

He wasn't leaving her much room for excuses.

Soundwave soon arrived at his destination; His apartment. He leaned on the doorway to continue the conversation, planning to make his way in once they were finished texting.

_[[Fine... I'll get one Thursday. What day is it?]]_

_[[Tuesday.]]_

_[[Right…Alright, Thursday it is. Don't you over work yourself, alright? I'm serious.]]_

_[[I won't.]]_

_[[Good. Good night.]]_

_[[Good night.]]_

And with that, Soundwave closed his phone. He took his keys out of his coat pockets and began to toggle with the lock. With a small _Chk _sound, the doors were unlocked and opened with ease. Soundwave stepped inside, closed the door, relocked it, and advanced to his room.

His room was a simple one; Nothing too fancy in terms of decoration.

Aside from the desktop computer sitting against the wall aside his bed, the room was fairly simple; Grey-blue paint on the walls, and a king-sized bed. Pretty empty compared to most rooms, unless you counted the throw rug that was smack-dab in the middle of the floor; But nonetheless elegant.

Soundwave coolly removed his trench coat and began to strip from his clothes. Once finished he calmly laid himself in his bed, removing his sun-glasses. He didn't have the energy to write his report for Megatron tonight, Soundwave scorned himself in his head all the while; promising himself he would make it up by working double-time on the morrow.

And with that, he drifted into rest.


	2. Chapter 2

Always and without fail, Soundwave was the first one at work, and Wednesday morning was no exception. By the time the sun began to rise and turn the sky a dusky, pastel blue, he had already completed two reports, sorted out the previous day's Energon production numbers, and made backups of all yesterday's chatlogs. It wasn't until he started in on the disciplinary notices that the smell of percolating coffee reached him, tipping him off to the fact that he was no longer alone.

Sure enough, the sounds of voices in the other room soon made themselves apparent.

"Three years of these ridiculous events! Three nights of gritting our teeth and pretending we enjoy the Autobots! What has it done for us?"

Apparently, Arcee wasn't the only one dreading the night to come.

"Now, now, Starscream. Isn't it worth it to see them grit their teeth and pretend to enjoy us?"

"It is _not_!"

Soundwave didn't look up from his computer screen, typing rapidly away as Knock Out continued on.

"More important than that, it's a fantastic excuse to dress up. Flaunt it! To see everyone else at their worst; tell me, what's not to like?"

Ohh, but he could just hear the answering sneer in Starscream's voice.

"We can't all appreciate the frivolous things in life, Knock Out. Nor can we share your passion for drunken indiscretion."

"That was once and I've made my apologies for it!"

Soundwave was never one to put a task on hold for no reason. But once the last notice was copied and saved, and Knock Out and Starscream still hadn't finished bickering, he found his hand wandering towards his phone yet again.

_[[Hope your workday is as pleasant as mine.]]_

* * *

"_Aaa-MM!_"

Smokescreen brought up his utensil up to his mouth and took a heaping forkful of his syrup-dripping pancakes that he had brought in. With the silliest of smiles on his face, he dug into his breakfast.

"Oh man! I can't _wait_ for the banquet! Being able to go out with Optimus and the rest of Team Prime? That's like a…once in a life time chance!"

"These banquets happen every year. And trust me, Smokescreen, they aren't as glamorous as you make them out to be." Ratchet said as he took a sip of his morning coffee. "Besides, we have to go there with the_ Decepticons_."

"What!? The Decepti-creeps are there!? Who invited _them_!?" Smokescreen exclaimed.

Arcee rolled her eyes in response. "It's an_ interfaction_ banquet, Smokescreen. Both the Autobots _and_ Decepticons are going to be there. That's what _interfaction_ means."

"So you're telling me I have to share a room with Star-screw-up ,Sound-dot-wav_,_ Knockers, and Legatron?"

"Once a year, every year, we _all _do. Trust me; it's just as bad _being _there as it sounds." Bulkhead chimed in; taking in a spoon full of the cereal he had in front of him. Bumblebee shrugged.

"Well being there with the rest of Team Prime will make it all worth it! Even _if_ those Stinkin' Cons have to be there too." Smokescreen sputtered through his mouthful of pancakes.

"Smokescreen…" Optimus Started as he put a hand on the cadet's shoulder. "I do not believe it's wise to…speak with your mouth full. Or eat pancakes in such a manner while wearing your _white_ uniform."

"No worries sir! I'm plenty careful!" Smokescreen hurriedly brought his hand up to salute, accidentally scraping the gooey maple against his chest. "….Uh…I can take care of that."

Arcee shook her head slightly, casually picking up her phone and logging into the internet when a chat window popped up. The username "Decepti-spy" displayed across her screen.

_Soundwave._

Hiding her slight smile at his message, Arcee glanced around to see if the others were preoccupied enough with their eating.

She began to type back.

_[[Everyone is as grumpy about the banquet as ever, and Smokescreen learned what Interfaction means.]]_

Soundwave would have smirked at the response, it was something about facts stepping on the cadet's excitement that made him feel fuzzy inside.

_[[If he weren't an Autobot, I would almost feel sorry for him.]]_

Arcee brought her hand up to her mouth, as she huffed slightly in amusement.

_[[I pity all of us. Oh and by the way; your new name is " Sound-dot-wav", and as far as Smokescreen is concerned, you're a stinkin' con.]]_

Soundwave's lips pursed slightly at the message.

_[[…]]_

_[[I have more important things to worry myself over than that hapless cadet's opinion on me. Besides; I bathe regularly.]]_

There was a pause.

_[[your nose wouldn't spend so much time buried in my neck if that weren't the case.]]_

Another short pause.

_[[Oh you know how much I love your senjkldflkasklasjse8923l;cdm,zmxqewkl vdfrh]]_

"**SMOKESCREEN LET GO!**"

"C'mon, Cee! I just wanna see for a second!"

Arcee leaned back in her chair, stretching her arm out with her phone, using a free hand to push against Smokescreen's face, keeping him at bay.

It was painfully obvious how her side of the morning was going.

_[[Dsjkasklsjk12sdk&^23!]]_

* * *

Fortunately, the afternoon went far more smoothly than the morning had — for Soundwave at least. Knock Out joined Breakdown in the sick bay and Starscream turned towards his long list of tasks for the day. Airachnid, true to form, was conducting her work out of sight.

And just like that, the Decepticon cause moved peacefully and efficiently forward.

It wasn't until the tail end of the day that the last file was tucked away, the last note categorized, and Megatron called them all for a last-minute meeting.

"I trust you're all fully prepared for the coming banquet. As always, I will remind you that this function takes place in full view of the Prime and his Autobots, and I expect your behavior to reflect the Decepticon cause. That means no overt quarreling, no leaving early, _no drunken hijinks_."

The sounds of his co-workers squirming were nearly audible.

* * *

By the time Soundwave was out the door, his evening workload tucked neatly under one arm, he was only too eager to pick up his phone and contact Arcee again — only to find a message in his inbox, patiently waiting for him with her name displayed alongside.

_[[I think I've found a place that can tailor a suit on short notice.]]_

Of course she had. Arcee was resourceful, so there'd been little doubt in his mind that she would find one.

_[[I'm not getting an early glimpse, I take it?]]_

The reply was short and prompt.

_[[Not a chance.]]_

Burying his free hand in his coat pocket to keep it from the chill of evening, Soundwave smiled lightly.

_[[I didn't think so.]]_

That too, he'd known she would never allow him. And that was exactly the way he liked it. Nothing pleased him more than a challenge; and they were nothing to each other if not a perpetual, blissful challenge.

_[[I mean it, Soundwave. Don't even try.]]_

Arcee knew it, too.

Soundwave chuckled, but only to himself.

_[[I wouldn't even dream of it]]._

_[[Well I'm going tomorrow, so that should be enough time before the stupid banquet. I'll let you know when I get something.]]_

And with that, Arcee logged off.

Soundwave almost smirked as he nudged his phone back into his pocket. Little did the lass know that while the spymaster was working with his usual tasks, he had a side project under the radar as well. One that Arcee wouldn't appreciate at first, but would thank him for later.

_…possibly._

* * *

Thursday had finally arrived. The Autobots were finished with their work day, and it was now time for Arcee to get her suit. The shop she picked out promised that they would be able to get something done for her before the banquet; it was time to put them to the test. She had brought the other Autobots to join her, for they had their own formal wear that they had to pick up. Unlike her they had actually gotten their clothes ahead of time, even _Smokescreen. _But now wasn't the time to roll her eyes over her sudden change of mind on her attendance; Arcee had a suit to fetch.

* * *

"What do you _mean "__**No**__"_?" Arcee all but growled. She leaned over the work desk of a man who typed away at his computer, resisting the urge to slam a fist down in aggravation. "I _told_ you, I scheduled a tailoring appointment _yesterday!_" Granted, someone else was in office when she spoke to the shop, but the point still stood.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but our records show that you do _not_ have an appointment with us." The man replied, still tip-typing away. Arcee grunted in frustration once more.

"Come now, Arcee. If you're not in, you're not in." Ratchet said crossing his arms. Arcee rolled her eyes.

"Whatever. Just…just schedule me in again." Arcee said with a wave of her hand.

"…I apologize, but it appears that someone_ else_ has taken our last slot."

"_What!? __**Who!?**__" _Arcee dipped her head behind the desk and glared at the monitor.

"**_WHEELJACK!?_** Wheeljack took my spot!?" Arcee exclaimed. "He-ey! Jackie's coming to the banquet too?! _Alright!_" Bulkhead's face wore a grin that was almost audible at the realization; Arcee groaned loudly and wiped her face heavily with her palm. Just then, almost at the nick of time, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Arcee picked it up and saw a message in her inbox; it was from Soundwave.

She raised an eyebrow and opened the message.  
_  
[[Having trouble? Try here:]]_

There was an address. Arcee recognized the plaza it was on; it was a dress shop. "_No._" Arcee spoke aloud. "_No,_ _no,_ **_no_**."

"No _what_?" Smokescreen asked, turning his head over to his co-worker.

"I found an address to a dress shop. I'm. Not. Going."

"Well why not?"

"I haven't worn a dress since kindergarten; and I'm not starting now. I always _hated_ those things." Arcee's arms crossed.

"Oh come on, 'Cee! It's only for one night! Besides, you might look really nice in one!" Said Smokescreen; his usual chipper attitude present as he held his tuxedo in his hands.

"Still no." Arcee refused to budge.

"Arcee, it's only for one night. I'm fairly certain you can tolerate it." Optimus reassured from afar.

Easy for him to say; he had a suit. Everyone did. Bumblebee, Ratchet, Optimus, Bulkhead, and Smokescreen. Arcee sighed heavily as everyone finished up paying for their wares.

"Fine, fine. _I'll go get the dress…_"


	3. Chapter 3

The shop was an unassuming white building, plain and quiet looking with only a few selections in each window. Despite herself, Arcee found herself just the slightest bit reassured. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She could grab something discrete and not too over the top. It would still be a dress, but it wouldn't be too far removed from a suit. Maybe this was going to work out well enough —

"What do you _mean,_ 'all sold out'?"

The woman behind the desk, a middle-aged woman with wide wrists and broader glasses, did her level best not to look taken back by the outburst.

"I'm very sorry, but that's the truth. We're all out of your measurements. Been out for a while."

"How can you be out of an entire measurement?!"

"If you like, we do have one in stock. I can bring it out for you."

Fine, yes. Give her the dress. Give her any dress. At this point, was Arcee was well and truly beyond caring. If it fit and it covered everything it should have, she would have been happy to wrap herself up in a mess of plastic —

And then she laid eyes on it.

The dress was floor length, the richest shade of blue, little folds and waves catching the light in all the places where it was obviously meant to grip the waist and hips. But while the bottom half danced like windblown water, the top half was markedly more…lacking. Arcee didn't know how it was all being held up by those flimsy little straps and hazarded a guess at witchcraft.

It was scandalous. It was titillating.

And it was _very_ deliberate.

"…Excuse me a moment."

* * *

At that very moment, Soundwave was enjoying some downtime at his apartment. Of course for Soundwave, downtime meant reviewing a few old transcripts he'd secretly taken as he munched blackberries and listened to symphonic poems. With Ravage curled up on his lap, it was shaping up to be a wonderful evening.

Then his phone lit up with Arcee's number, and it shaped up to be an even better evening.

_[[You did this.]]_

Soundwave gave Ravage a scratch between the ears before replying.

_[[What are you even talking about?]]_

_[[The dress.]]_

_[[You didn't approve of the dresses? That's a shame. You know, at this point, you're running out of options.]]_

_[[You think this is funny, Soundwave?]]_

_[[Yes.]]_

The next reply took longer than the others to arrive. He wondered if she was spluttering on the other hand, gritting her teeth and fighting back the urge to lob the phone.

_[[Do you know what? I'm still going. I'm going and we will not be speaking.]] _

_[[Understood.]]_

Another long pause in between responses. Almost long enough to make it through the song he was on.

_[["Understood." Really.]]_

_[[Yes. Chat with you tomorrow.]]_

Truthfully, he did not expect to receive a reply to that. And Arcee did not send one.

Soundwave popped a berry into his mouth and did his best not to smile too broadly.

Ravage, for his part, slept on.

* * *

Arcee roughly snapped her phone shut and mustered all of her willpower to not throw it against the nearest wall in frustration.

This was all a game to him. A game she was not playing for even a second.

Then again…he _did_ have a point; she _was _indeed running out of options. Arcee sighed heavily and returned to the woman. "Alright…I'll try it on at least…" She groaned as she took the dress in her hands. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad once she actually put it on. Althrough She had to make it fast or else Smokescreen would start to get bored and begin playing around with the displays like a giant 4-year-old. Heaven forbid they get a repeat of the "spaghetti man" incident.

* * *

Back outside, Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead sat on the bench, awaiting Arcee's arrival with the new dress. Things were quiet until Bulkhead got a text from…Smokescreen?

He raised an eyebrow and began to read its contents, soon nudging Optimus on the arm. "Uh…guys? Smokescreen says he needs some help in his text."

"Help with _what?_" Bumblebee asked.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ you're not coming out?!" Bulkhead exclaimed, causing Optimus to bring a finger up to his lips to remind the larger man to use his inside voice.

"What do you mean "_what do I mean_"!? I'm not stepping one foot out of here with this…I don't even know if it qualifies as a _dress! _" Arcee ranted, her voice echoing from the dressing room stalls.

"Oh c'mon, 'Cee! I bet you'll look great! It's probably all in your head." Smokescreen reassured.

"**NO!**"

"Arcee, if you do not come out of the stall yourself, I will have bulkhead you take out himself." Optimus warned.

"_…..You wouldn't."_

"

Bulkhead; remove Arcee from_-"_

_"_**ALRIGHT!** I'll come out!" Arcee groaned. Several seconds past, and finally the jitter and fumbling of the knob could be heard before the door swung open. Bulkhead had to stifle his giggle at the flustered woman.

There Arcee stood in the dress, the sourest of expressions on her face as her fists clenched tightly. "Go ahead, _laugh it up_!"

"_Pft_! That's it? Smokescreen was right; it really _is_ all in your head." Ratchet waved his hand and walked away, going back to his post at the bench outside. "Yeah! You look great 'Cee! In fact you look like one of those pretty Disney pri-"

"Smokescreen…you finish that sentence…and I will put you through a _wall_." Arcee growled, not in the mood for one of Smokescreen's many Disney references. Smokescreen in turn made a lip-zipping gesture. "Nope! Not saying the P-word! Look at me, not saying it." Arcee nodded grimly.

"C'mon 'Cee. It's not that bad, really. It's only for one night, and besides; who's gonna be ogling at 'ya in that thing anyways?" Bulkhead asked.

His answer started with a _Sound_, and ended with a _Wave_, and that was truly enough for her. But she sighed in defeat. She did say that she wasn't going to be on speaking terms with the spy for that night; as long as she kept herself out of _groping distance_, she would be fine for at _least_ ten-minutes.

"Uuugh, **FINE**. I'll buy the damn thing." Arcee groaned once more. "Atta girl!" Bulkhead commended with a toothy smile.

* * *

By the time Arcee was done paying for her item and was long since out the door, the moon shone brightly down on the 6 Autobots as they walked their short distance together before going their separate ways, wishing each other a good night and that they would see each other at work the next morning. Once again it took all of Arcee's willpower to not simply drag the dress through the dirt as she oh-so desperately wanted to. She resisted the urge as she got to her home. It wasn't an apartment, but a full one-story home from when others used to live with her but had long since moved out.

She opened her front door and all but stomped her way to her room, shoving the skimpy lump of fabric into her closet, not wanting to look at it again for the rest of the night. Quickly stripping of her clothing, she threw herself into her bed; quickly falling into a deep slumber.

_Soundwave: 3, Arcee: 0_


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, as Arcee rose to face the morning that would ultimately lead to the dreaded banquet, she waited with gritted teeth for the telltale ring of Soundwave's familiar text message; the sound that would indicate he had thrown her displeasure to the wind. It was exactly what she expected of him, after all. She'd anticipated nothing else.

As she waited not-so-patiently, her routine proceeded as always.

The water from her shower dried on her hair.

The jam melted into the corners of her breakfast muffin.

Soundwave did not contact her.

And that was just fine with her.

Her workday went even more smoothly than usual. Optimus had taken Smokescreen aside for a short mission review/last minute rundown of things not to do at the banquet, so the office was quieter than it had been in the last several months. As morning rolled into afternoon, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so productive.

And as they headed home early to get ready for the evening ahead, she still hadn't heard a single word from Soundwave.

Which was, again, just fine with her.

Nearly. Almost.

_…Ass._

* * *

As their "agreement" dictated, Soundwave did not contact Arcee all throughout the next day — not even when his fingers itched to do just that. He came into work just as early as he always did, prepared his files as carefully as he always had, ignored Starscream and Knock Out's banter over the broken coffee machine as dutifully as he always would, and when it was time to close things up, did so as thoroughly as he'd ever done.

As he stepped out into the city, it appeared that the sun had lit up the entire sky with a blazing orange. Though it made the itch return to his fingertips, the phone stayed securely buried the vast pocket of his coat.

Soundwave had other plans.

Upon arriving home, he hung up his coat, stroked Ravage in passing, and headed for the closet, which was as orderly as the rest of his apartment. The golden eyes of the cat watched as he pulled out the one article that contained even the finest sheen of dust.

The one item he'd been hoping was there, even as he had no doubts that it would be.

An old, worn record jacket.

Soundwave smirked slightly to himself in satisfaction, before tucking it away, this time closer to the closet door, before packing it in for the night.


	5. Chapter 5

Alright, in this chapter we finally get to the banquet it'self! After all that build up, this night better be worth it, huh?

Enjoy!

* * *

The evening came quickly, almost too quickly in Arcee's eyes, before the dreaded night came.

She drove on down the rather crowded roads; her fists clutched the steering wheel tightly out of frustration until her hands turned red, all the while thinking of ways she could have avoided this event.

She could always randomly "turn up missing" for a day or two…

Or Perhaps she could bludgeon herself with a baseball bat and call off due to injuries…?

Or simply just turn her car around and hide under her bed until the banquet blew over.

None of these options would have been easy to explain off during work come Monday, and Arcee cursed inwardly for that fact. She sighed and rolled her eyes, filing the grossly exaggerated plans away for a rainy day.

It didn't take too long for her to arrive, despite Arcee meaning to drive as slowly as legally possible to shave away as much time as she could; but knowing Optimus, he would have told her to come at an earlier time than in actuality for the sake of punctuation. Arcee groaned slightly and exited her vehicle.

The dress was a pain to maneuver in, the high heels made her walk resemble a confused chicken, and the less she thought of bathroom complications the better; how most women even functioned indresses was beyond her. The only word that raced through her mind with every second she was forced to wear this lump of fabric was "Torture".

Plain torture.

With a stumble here and miss-step there, she finally opened the doors to the main banquet hall.

Arcee handed her ticket to the taker and all but stomped her way to her shared table; the very one they had to share with the Decepticons.

The set up of the room was large and extravagant, live bands playing soft music in the background, candle lights and silky covers over every table, and every single person was engaging in small talk of some kind. There was Rodimus, Strika, and Ultra Maginus too? Arcee continued to mark off everyone she saw as she made her way to the table. Everyone wore either a suit or dress…

They all looked cloned.

"Hey, 'Cee! You made it!" Smokescreen exclaimed.

"Unfortunately." She grumbled in returned as she sat down next to the cadet, causing Optimus to let out an "Arcee…" in warning to watch her temper; she huffed in responce

"So when do the 'Cons get here so we can start? I'm hungry." Bumblebee asked, placing a hand on his stomach.

" I 'unno. You know them, they like to be "fashionably la-" "

Bulkhead's words were cut off as everyone in the room heard the main doors swing open. Revealing 6 figures.

There they were, The Decepticons, Each of them sporting their formal wear; but one of them in particular caught the woman's eye.

Soundwave.

It was as if time itself had slowed, showing every bounce and sweeping motion of that long, magnificent hair, the way his sunglasses shined slightly at the reflection of the lights, and the tuxedo…the way it hugged his slender figure, and gave way to the delicate and natural curve of his body, the way his tie fit snugly around his neck…

Oh how she wanted nothing more than to rip the tie off with her teeth…

Arcee soon shook her head, remembering her status with Soundwave. She leaned towards Smokescreen.

"Hey, Smokes."

"Yeah?"

"Switch seats with me."


	6. Chapter 6

In a remarkably short span of time, despite all prior evidence to the contrary, Arcee was having herself a lovely evening.

The music selection was incomparable, the Autobots seated around her were excellent conversationalists, and whatever they'd used to make the broth in that soup _had_ to have come from the perpetually flowing tears of some statue kept hidden in the back of an ancient church.

She was relaxed. She was happy.

She couldn't get enough of the_ look_ on Soundwave's face.

And she had the perfect view of him, too. Sitting over there next to Smokescreen (which came with its own advantages; from this viewpoint, she could easily keep an eye on her youngest comrade), silent and stoic as ever, but with that persistent look of someone who had been firmly and repeatedly jabbed in the side of the head over a great length of time. Three years, perhaps.

Arcee let herself chuckle aloud. Just a hint of a chuckle.

Oh yes. This was shaping up to be a fantastic night indeed.

* * *

Despite all prior evidence to the contrary, Soundwave was having himself a miserable evening.

And it wasn't just because of Smokescreen's constant presence, either; wasn't due to Smokescreen beaming like a sugar-addled four year old whenever Optimus rose to say something mildly impressive, wasn't due to the Autobot's heavyhanded probing for Decepticon secrets ("Soo…you guys keeping any secrets?") It wasn't even due to that out of nowhere whisper of "I'm on to you, Creepwave," which had inexplicably come just as the seafood was being served.

…Well, fair enough. All of the above played a large part in it.

But his lack of proximity to Arcee didn't especially help matters.

And so, proactive person that he was, Soundwave put forward an attempt to remedy that.

Just before the baked Alaska was to be brought out — according to Knock Out, the only thing that kept them all returning year after year — the Autobot occupant of the seat directly next to Arcee vacated, headed for the bar in the back, and Soundwave knew that there would be no better time to make his move.

It wasn't easy to miss the man in the crowd, and wouldn't have been even for someone far less observant than Soundwave. Not only was this man tall, but he was missing his left arm.

Upon catching up with him, Soundwave forewent the introductions. A swiftly typed message on the prominent display screen of his phone; that would do in lieu of names.

_[[Would you be interested in trading seats with me?]]_

Behind his yellow, visored glasses, Soundwave could tell that the man's brows had raised. His eyes were roaming the room. Quite possibly preparing for an imminent attempt on his life, and not without some justification.

"…Why?"

_[[Do you see the Autobot in the seat beside you? Right at the end of the table, in the blue dress? I need to discuss something with her. Something very important.]]_

"That's nice," the man said in a tone that strongly implied it was the opposite. "The thing is, I'm sitting next to my partner over there. So no. Can't help you."

_[[Define partner.]]_

"Husband."

Ahh.

Well, that could certainly work to his advantage. He decided to skip the bartering and make his point very quickly, typing out and flashing another note without preamble.

_[[Here's what I'm proposing. Take your partner out onto the veranda and have dessert under the stars, and I'll be gone by the time you come back. It's beautiful out there. The speeches are over; you won't miss a thing.]]_

And then, when suspicion began to cross streams with a hint of temptation…

_[[Believe me. If I wanted to set you up to be harmed, I would have sent you into the coat room.]]_

Soundwave would later admit it to himself — and only to himself.

Even he was a bit surprised that that had worked.

* * *

When the seats beside Arcee vacated, there were several questions that rose in Arcee's mind. But when Soundwave settled in the chair right next to her, she had only one.

"…What did you do to those two?"

In an instant, his fingers were flying over the keypad; dancing neatly over the declaration that said they weren't speaking to one another. Arcee pointedly avoided watching them.

_[[Not a single thing.]]_He must have seen how utterly unconvinced she looked, because he went on. [[_You can't really think I'd be foolish enough to try anything serious, surrounded by this many Autobots. ]]_

"No," Arcee granted. "I'm just surprised. Amazed is more like it. To think you couldn't handle a single dinner next to Smokescreen."

_[[Technically, I did. We've moved onto dessert now_._]]_

And ugh; there, one of_those_moments. Those split seconds where Arcee knew he should be smirking, but of course, he just had to go and be Soundwave — the undisputed master of the poker face. It was the key difference between him and every other Decepticon. He knew how to ration his smirks.

"Cute. How about you tell me just what it is you're after?"

_[[A break from your co-worker. To gravitate towards the most pleasant person in the room. Are you really so surprised that it's you?]]_

Arcee's eyebrow cocked at that. "I'm surprised that you're trying this hard."

_[[I'm not. In fact, this is practically part of my job description.]]_

"…Come again?"

_[[Taking extra steps towards a worthwhile goal.]]_

Something in Arcee wavered at that. Some ridiculous part of her that couldn't help but remember their first banquet together, and her Autobot side — her _rational_ side — retaliated immediately. Stay firm, it said. Remember the dress. Don't give in. Tell him to clear out and — would you stop looking at his hands?!

Finally, Arcee gave a shrug.

"…Fine. What do I care? Let someone else chase you off."

_[[Now now, Arcee; No need to be huffy. Let's just enjoy the evening.]]_

Arcee exaggeratedly huffed out in responce, expelling more air than needed.

Fine, be that way.

He would loosen her up well enough in due time, anyways. And it seemed that that time was _now._

* * *

"Man, oshthere I was, wresslin fro the phase shirfter- nockers! You know htis!"

Smokescreen bantered on through his dessert, he waved the fork in his left hand on and about to match his sloppy words as everyone ate on, only half-catching what he had to say. Smokescreen's cheeks were flushed, he bobbed slightly, and talked two notches louder than what was required; he also didn't even question how he suddenly was placed in a different seat than he was in 10 minutes ago, much to Soundwave's luck.

"Uh…Smokescreen, I think you've had enough to drink." Bulkhead suggested, instantly shot down by the eager cadet.

"No wya! I'm tellin the stoyr about the pahse shitter!" Smokescreen exclaimed jamming his fork into his dessert.

The entire table all but busted with laughter, hard snorts and stifles of laughter were all that emitted from their small space. Smokescreen threw his hands up.

"I'm gonna get nother dirnk" He announced before slightly stumbling away to his 4thtrip to the bar.

"I swear sometimes Smokescreen can be a-NGHK!" Arcee cut her sentence as she felt something slide up her leg.

A hand.

A smooth, soft, slender-fingered hand.

"Arcee, are you alright?" Optimus asked, glancing up from his plate.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine, I just-! The dress just kind of tickles my leg, that's a-all." Arcee stammered in response;

It took all that Soundwave had not to smirk at the woman's attempts to keep composure in front of the others. The thought of her being forced to suppress the moans he so craved to hearwas sweeter than any dessert. In response to her attempts, his hands trailed upward, inching closer and closer to her inner thighs.

He wondered if Arcee would slip enough to let a moan escape her lips, or if she was stronger than he had previously thought.

What better time to put that to the test than now?

A glass clinked across the room. The music played on. Their eyes met.

Somewhere behind those impenetrable sunglasses, Arcee knew that he was searching.

She could have easily told him to stop at any time. He would have, too; after all, he'd wandered close to that line before, toed it, tested and never ignored a signal as surely as he never missed one. A glare in his direction and Soundwave's hand would leave, simple and silent, taking its light, velvet touch with it. And that would be the end of that.

She knew it and he knew it.

There his hand remained, easy and unhurried, radiating heat as it rested below the curtain of her dress. The tips of his fingers traced tiny, barely perceptible circles over her bare skin; fleeting hints of a more intimate touch lay elsewhere on her body. An inch or so in one direction, a few centimeters in another, and he'd be touching far more than just knee.

Arcee drew a quick, even breath through her nose, and did not tell him to stop.

Then, with a tilt of the head that stopped just shy of becoming a shrug, she picked up her glass and sipped; A little more deeply than she'd been doing, but casually all the same.

Turned to the others and smiled.

Easy. Natural.

"Sorry about that. What were we talking about?"

And sure enough, they were none the wiser.

"Tell you what we should be talking about," Bulkhead replied. "Who's going to go up there watch Smokescreen. You know things start to get weird around the fifth drink." It was not meant as a joke.

Meanwhile, Soundwave's expression betrayed nothing. It never did. His eyes traveled nonchalantly to his cell phone as his hand continued its slow and steady upward crawl, ghosting the boundary of silkier fabric and teasing at the beginnings of softer skin…making as though he would slip his touch below at any second and caress her _exactly_ the way she always adored. Curling in delicate little upwards curves. Promising.

Her fingers gave a single, hard twitch, but no more.

The conversation was proceeding merrily without her direct input. It seemed the general consensus was that Smokescreen _could_ be left to his own inebriated devices, provided he was kept away from Knock Out.

"That's a pretty big if, you know," Arcee finally put in. And then; not un-deliberately,

"This many shady people in one room? You know Smokescreen will gravitate right to the worst of them."

Apparently, Soundwave took that as a cue to step up his game.

Because suddenly, there was the scar on his pinkie, the scar on her inner thigh, and their scars were meeting, and he was slowly hooking a finger to tug her undergarments to the side, and then — oh.

_Ohhh._

"Arcee?" Someone asked, and Arcee had to blink several times to realize that it was Optimus. "Are you certain that you're alright?"_  
_

She heard herself replying with something she knew to be ridiculous — something about the room being too bright, but her voice was even enough and that was what truly mattered.

But despite it all, despite the pounding of her heart, the dryness in her throat; despite the quiver that timed itself so perfectly to the gentle slide of those digits, Arcee still didn't give the sign to stop. Her reasoning stemmed only partially out of obscenely pleasurable personal challenge.

Some things went both ways, after all; if Soundwave's own game wasn't getting to him, he was a saint.

And Soundwave was anything but a saint.


End file.
